Dillon hesitated, then he shook his head.
“I did it.”
Myra put her hand to her mouth. She took a step back, pushing the stool away.
“You did it?” she repeated. “Did what?”
Dillon moved restlessly. “I gave him the works,” he said. “The yellow rat came in shootin’ off his mouth, so I gave it to him.”
Myra’s eyes flashed. “Are you crazy?” she screamed. “You’ve killed Hurst, you goddam fool?”
Dillon went over to her with two quick strides. His hand shot out and gripped her wrap, twisting it in his fist. He jerked her forward, so that their faces were close. “Shut up!” he snarled. “You shut your trap. I’m runnin’ this outfit. I ain’t standin’ any yap from you. If you don’t watch out, I’ll knock
Myra stiffened.
“Yeah, I mean that,” he said, his eyes glaring at her.
She put her hand on his wrist. “Let me go,” she said. “I won’t start anythin’.”
Dillon gave her a shove, sending her backwards. She sat down in the chair, her hands limply at her sides. “What are you goin’ to do?” she asked.
Dillon, satisfied that he had fixed her, went over to an arm-chair and sat down.
“I’ve got the mob,” he said, picking his words. “I’ve got the racket, I guess I’m goin’ to be the big shot… the only big shot around here.”
Myra said, “But the cops?”
Dillon sneered. “Hurst paid the cops. Okay, I’ll pay ’em. They ain’t to have any beef. I’ll pay ’em better, see?”
Myra didn’t say anything. She sat staring at the floor.
Encouraged by her silence, Dillon went on, “Tonight I’m goin’ after Ernie. We’ve got him sewn up tight.”
Myra jerked up her head. She just stared at Dillon, speechless. Dillon nodded at her, his triumph making him expand.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’ve got the whole layout fixed. First Hurst. Okay, he’s gone. Then Little Ernie…. He goes tonight. Then I got this burg to play with. It means plenty of dough, baby, an’ I’m gettin’ the lot.”
Myra beat her hands together. “For God’s sake… can’t you see where you’re headin’? Little Ernie’s got everything. He’s got a bigger mob… he’s got protection… the cops are behind him…. Oh, hell! I tell you he’s got everything.”
Dillon grinned. “Okay. When he’s washed up, I get it, so what?”
The telephone began to ring shrilly. Myra got up and answered it. Dillon saw her suddenly stiffen. She said, “Sure he’s here.” She turned round. “Roxy wants you quick,” she said. “Something gone wrong.”
Dillon scowled, but he got up fast and took the receiver out of her hand. “Yeah, what is it?” he snapped.
Roxy said, “Listen, Bud. Vessi’s blown the gaff. He’s tipped Little Ernie off about tonight. You gotta get out fast. They’re after you with rods.”
Dillon went a dirty white. “After me?” he said, his voice rising. “What the hell do you mean, they’re after me?”
“For God’s sake,” Roxy raved at the other end, “don’t stand there yappin’. Get out quick. They’ve taken two cars and are on their way right now.”
“Sure, I’ll scram,” Dillon said evenly. “Listen. Come on over, with a fast car. I ain’t gotta car here. I’ll meet you at the corner.”
Roxy said, “I’ll do that.”
Dillon slammed down the receiver and swung round. His face was twisted with fury. “Come on,” he said, “we gotta get out of here quick.”
Myra sprang to the cupboard and snatched out a dress. Tearing the wrap off, she pulled the dress over her head. She put on a pair of shoes. She was dressed under thirty seconds. Her eyes were like two glittering pebbles.
“The Thompson,” she said.
Dillon ran into the other room. As soon as he had gone, she hurriedly returned to the cupboard and took from an inside pocket of a coat hanging there a roll of money. She hastily slipped it into her bag, looking over her shoulder while she did so.
Dillon returned, carrying the riot gun. He went over to the door and opened it, looking into the dark passage. Then he jerked his head at her and walked out.
Myra heard a car draw up with a squeal of brakes. She ran over to the window and peered round the blind. Four men came bundling out of the car and ran across the pavement into the house.
She shouted to Dillon: “Come back… quick… they’re here!”
Dillon slipped into the room again, and shut the door. He turned the key. For a moment he stood hesitating, then went over to the cupboard. “Give me a hand,” he said. “Get this across the door.”
They jerked and pulled the cupboard into position. Heavy footsteps came thudding down the passage and someone knocked on the door.
Dillon raised his hand to Myra. They stood looking at the cupboard, waiting.
Myra suddenly spun round and ran to the telephone. She hastily dialled Dillon made as if to stop her, then shrugged.
The desk sergeant at the other end of the line listened to her incoherent whispering.
“You’re nuts,” he said at last. “Things don’t happen like that in this city. Take a pill… that’s what you want.” As he hung up, she heard him say, “Ernie’s goin’ for ’em now.”
Myra dropped the receiver into its cradle. She turned round to Dillon, her eyes wide with fear. “It’s a frame- up,” she said jerkily. “The cops won’t come.”
A sneer went over Dillon’s face. “Yeah?” he said. “I don’t want the bulls to pull me outta this.”
Again someone knocked on the door.
Dillon said softly, “Out the back way.”
Quietly they left the room and went through the kitchen. The back door led down a long flight of steps to a dark alley. Dillon went first, holding the Thompson close to his side. Myra followed him. They went down the stairs slowly, watching the door at the bottom. Myra expected it to fly open any moment, and she felt her body cringing.
They got to the bottom without anything happening. Dillon snapped off the light before opening the door. He put his hand on her arm. “Get down flat,” he said.
Myra crouched on the floor. Dillon knelt, reaching for the door-handle. His hand was steady as he quietly turned it. The door came towards him very slowly. As the aperture widened he sank lower on the floor. Outside was black. It was just as if a heavy curtain hung in front of him. There was not a sound.
At last he got the door wide open. Faintly, he could hear them smashing the door down upstairs. He touched Myra’s arm, and they began to crawl forward. Without warning a gun exploded above him. He heard the bullet smack against the wall, and the faint sound of the plaster as it ran down.
Raising the Thompson, he suddenly opened fire, sweeping the gun round in a half-circle. Above the roar of the gun he heard a strangled cry. He stopped firing and crawled on. The damp pavement touched his outstretched hand. Faintly, now that he was outside, the reflected lights of the city glowed over the high wall. The alley was still dark, but he could see a little. Drawing his breath sharply between his teeth, he stood up slowly, keeping the Thompson ready.
Nothing happened. Myra stood up, her heart pounding and came close to him. They began to walk slowly down the alley. Almost immediately, Dillon stumbled over a body. He didn’t take his eyes off the exit to the alley. He carefully stepped over, raising his feet and feeling before he put his weight on them again. He kept on. The open street ahead of him, the deep shadows, and the knowledge that somewhere death was waiting for him, made his nerves tingle. He told himself if Roxy wasn’t there he was sunk.
Myra said in little gasps, “Watch out… for God’s sake watch out!”
Dillon said nothing. He went on, getting slower as the end of the alley crept towards him. When he was a few yards from the street, he went down on his hands and knees.
Myra’s nerve cracked. She leant against the wall, letting him go on ahead. She was ready to spring after him if nothing happened, but she could go no farther until she knew.
